


Fare Thee Well

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Backstage, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28083063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: At Papa III’s last show, he delays the inevitable by showing an audience member a good time-- one last time.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus III/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Fare Thee Well

**Author's Note:**

> Requested through that one site, Koparm-Fibliotech. Inquire about yours on my tumblr, @kissthegoghuleh.

Papa looks at himself in the mirror of his dressing room. He’s a little tipsy, which is a shitty thing right before a show, but at least it’s on absinthe. Now he could sing the song Spirit from experience.

He barks out a laugh at that inside joke he’d made with himself, but the sound does nothing to brighten him up. He was miserable. That was the plain and simple of it. Tonight is his last show, and though it felt like he had gone through every stage of grief leading up to tonight, in reality he was stuck in denial. Maybe if he performed longer—

Papa cuts that thought short. He’d figure something out, maybe. He glances up at the old photographs of golden age Hollywood stars; idols of his he looked up to as a performer.

 _Bela Lugosi. Marlene Dietrich. Fred Astaire. Sophia Loren._ All stars of the black and white silver screen, beautiful, mysterious or charming in some way, _classics who nobody ever forgot_ , stars who burned bright as he had tried to. Terzo had always tried to replicate their swagger and elegance on stage as they would in front of a camera to go down in history, but self doubt never failed to tell him he was too clumsy to be as graceful as the old stars. But what about his screaming fans?

“They will be screaming for my successor this time next year,” he tells his reflection, smudging his lip paint on the glass with the last sip of the milky green spirit. A knock at the open door interrupts his wallowing. Terzo sees in the mirror that it’s Water, with a few others behind him.

“Five minutes until the ritual commences, Dark Excellency.”

Terzo can hear the haunting warbles of Masked Ball echo out through the rousing crowd beyond the stage. He just gives a nod, and set the glass down. Attempting to summon all the strength he could to convert his self pity into the usual sexual charisma he oozed when doing a show, he brushed his hair back and narrowed his eyes at his reflection. Did people really want him?

When he brought the groupies back to the bus, or to his room set aside for such things back here, did they want him for his looks and his prowess? Or were they simply attracted to the title, and the rock star status that came with his position as the highest member of the Church of Satan?

He’s overthinking this.

Groaning, he realizes his cock had grown interested in thinking of the groupies. _What a burden his cock had become._ A positively beautiful groupie had sucked it last week, and sure he had used that memory to jerk off since then, but it was never enough. He was never satiated, and since the depression of this being his last tour stop ever had taken over, his cock hadn’t seen much action at all the past few days.

“Relax, cazzo,” he speaks down to his lap. “We will beat off later while crying, si? Is that what you want?!”

“Please, Papa. Tell me you aren’t talking to your dick.” Papa turns to see Omega standing by his door.

“Feh,” he huffs, waving a gloved hand. “It is my only friend. Besides you, I suppose.”

“What are you doing in here still?!” Omega mutters, rushing over and snatching the bottle of absinthe away. “You’re in here, when you should be—!” He quiets down as he sees Papa’s head hang again, and realizes. “Oh,” He sighs, “oh.” Placing two firm hands on Papa’s shoulders, Terzo waits for the inevitable force of the ghoul yanking him out of his chair to push him out there on stage. Instead, the guitarist begins to massage his muscles. “Unholy Father, Blasphemous Mother, I ask that you help my dearest friend to get his shit together.” Omega pats Papa on the shoulder. “Your turn, Eminence.” Papa rolls his eyes.

“I don’t need forgiveness.”

“Oh, it’s not for forgiveness. It’s for sobriety.”

Papa laughs, and nods once. Bowing his head in silent reverence, he says a prayer, and looks up. Taking a drink from a bottle of water the venue had provided, he starts to feel his wits come back by the grace of Satan. Still... he feels no motivation to get up.

“It’s your last night,” Omega says, looking at both of their reflections as he sits on the bed behind them.

“Thank you for reminding me,” Papa snaps sourly.

“—Which means, you should enjoy it.”

“How could I possibly do that, eh?”

“Do what you love,” the ghoul shrugs. “What do you love to do at every single show?” Memories wash over Terzo like waves, and he gets glimpses of all the lovely ladies and gorgeous men he’d flirted with in the audience. Some were even lucky enough to entertain him for the night. That was what would get him out of this, and Omega knew it. Papa stands, straightening his chasuble and snatching his mitre.

“Time to give ‘em the claps.”

In the audience, you wait with building anticipation for Papa to come out. The ghouls take their places, and before long, the curtains drop to reveal the man you’d come to see. Papa comes out on stage, arms wide as Square Hammer begins. You’re immediately flooded with endorphins just from the sight of him. Handsome as ever, hair falling into his face as he jumps down from his position behind the drum kit. His eyes sweep out over the audience, and you can feel the sexual energy in the air.

During From The Pinnacle To The Pit, his eyes meet yours completely. He seems to look you up and down, before shooting a wink your way. Finally during Cirice, the song you’d been waiting for, his eyes settle on you again. Lo and behold, his hand slips forward into yours, and those eyes stare back into yours again like fire. You feel his breath on your knuckles as he leans down to kiss your hand, and he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he slips his lips around the ring on your finger, obscenely licking around it as if to imply his intentions. You’re left with parted lips and a throb between your legs by the time he finally lets you go.

Enjoying the music as it goes on through the evening, you finally reach the intermission. Your body is running on adrenaline, and you only crave more. Just as you’re about to head out for drinks before the second half of the ritual, you feel a hand on your shoulder. It’s a man with blonde hair.

“The Papa would like to meet you.”

Looking around backstage after being led there by the guard, you look around. He had directed you to a room at the end of the hall that had a sign that read: The Papa Room. You twist the doorknob, walk in, and notice a large bed set up haphazardly behind a table to the left. It’s not the most romantic scene, but it must be where Papa sleeps. Or...

The door behind you swiftly slams shut, and you turn in fright to see the third Papa himself. He’s panting, hair hanging in his eyes as he lets out what sounds like a desperate groan. He must really have been affected by the flirting—you can see the outline of his erection through his black pants.

 _Worth a shot to make me feel better,_ Papa thinks.

He opens his mouth.

“Do you want to fuck me as much as I want to fuck you?” All you can do is nod, and his hands are on you. Bringing his lips to yours, he walks you back toward the bed. Before he can undress you, you pull your shirt over your head in a stunned show of promiscuity, and paw at his pants. Not about to deny you, he lets you unbuckle him, tug him closer to your face with his belt, and unzip his pants. His cock is swollen and has filled out the black boxers he has on. You can already feel the wet spot forming at the tip of the long outline, and dart your tongue out to kitten lick over it through the fabric. Papa groans.

“You tease me, mm?”

“Not for long,” you say, and bite your lip. Before reality can really set in, the impulsive side of you reaches into his boxers and gives him a long stroke. There’s enough precum beading out for you to give him a few more strokes, before bringing him up to your lips and dragging the head all the way along your bottom lip. 

“Cara,” he whispers, jaw falling open. You take his gloved finger down to your mouth as well, and suck it into your mouth. Papa slides it back out slowly and hooks his thumb on the end of your tongue, keeping your mouth open in waiting. “Such a pretty sight, si?” Your eyelashes flutter as he removes his hand.

“I’ve always wanted to taste you.” Taking his waiting cock down finally a couple of inches, you moan around his cock as he throbs against your tongue. Closing your mouth to tighten around him as you take a couple more inches, Papa’s pants rustle. He’s restless. Taking mercy on him in his state, you begin to bob your head, and Papa’s breathing speeds up.

“That is so fucking good,” he huffs out. “Ai... you know what you are doing. Ah, fuck... you please your Papa so well.” After a moment of your obscene slurping noises on his cock, Papa’s deep groans start to climb in octaves. What were once low moans become high pitched, airy whines and whimpers, and before you know it, he’s jerking your lips off of him. 

Papa helps you up with a hand. The two of you tumble back, Papa grabbing both your wrists to slam them back against the headboard. This is what he loved about the job. Exploring all the bodies, worshipping them, taking and giving all the pleasure he could. Losing himself in the sensations of your hands clutching onto his shoulders, he brings his lips down again. Teeth graze against yours and Papa swallows your moan. With an animalistic growl, he parts your legs so they’re spread eagle out on either side of the bed. He looks down to unabashedly admire your cunt.

He dips his head down to give a long lick between your wet lips, and you stifle your moan. Glancing back up, he sighs in frustration. “No. Do not feel ashamed. Scream loud, tell them all it is Papa making you feel so good.”

“Oh,” you breathe. He dives back down, holding you by the calves as he pushes you open wider for him.

“Grab my hair.” He looks up through black bangs, a wicked grin on his lips. “I love to be grabbed.” With no time to reconsider handling a powerful man like Papa like this, you reach your fingers down tentatively. “You are nervous, eh? You don’t want to mess up Papa’s hair for the show?” He scoffs, running his own hands through his locks and messing them up himself. You groan, pulling him down and pushing him into your pussy. He makes a noise of insatiable hunger, delving his tongue back between your folds and holding your thighs back as he licks you out.

“Papa,” you whisper, not sure what you’re begging for. He swirls his tongue around your clit before slithering up between your legs to take your lips again. He humps his still clothed bulge against your leg a couple of times as he makes sure he’s in position. Your hands come down through the kiss to shimmy his pants down just enough, and your fingers come in contact with his hot, pulsing member.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps. “Fuck, I need to feel your cunt.”

“Take me,” you surprise yourself by gasping. Papa guides himself to your wet hole in a fulfillment of your fantasies, and sinks in with an expert snap of his hips. You look beautiful, mouth tipping open as your head falls back to sink into the pillow. His lithe body curves every time he pulls out, hips rotating back in each time. He thanks Satanas he has enough strength to keep himself up over you, then dips back down to take advantage of the position for a little while longer.

“You take me so good,” he murmurs. Hands coming up to pin your wrists again, he slows his thrusts to try and find your sweet spot. You angle your hips up a little, and he presses his forehead to yours as he gasps softly. “You are wonderful. Ah, fuck. I could cum right now.” He chuckles at the worried look on your face. “But I will not, ghuleh. I’m not a selfish lover, you know this thing? I will make you cum nice and hard on Papa's cock.”

“I believe you,” you breathe. _Oh_. At the other side of the room, you can see your reflection... see where Papa’s fucking in and out of you. Your whole body shudders, and a wave of arousal coats his cock to make the slide even faster. Leaning up, you chance another kiss, and Papa happily reciprocates. Picking up his thrusts again, he collides with the spot that blackens your vision for a moment.

“Ah,” he purrs in your ear. “Now I know how to take you apart, si?” He starts to pound rhythmically into that spot until you’re desperately grinding up against him. His hand comes between you, and you almost wish he’d forgotten about your clit—it would be over far too fast now. His rubbing is masterful, talented fingers working your bud in circles as you like to do.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whine.

“Good,” he drawls. “Remember my name when you do.” Letting out a moan akin to a sob, your hips jerk and your climax hits. Papa grunts punched out breaths as you squeeze around him, and his fingers tighten around your wrists. His thrusts pick up, and your toes curl as you feel another orgasm approach so quickly.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, barely above a breath. Papa rolls his hips, sweat beginning to trickle down the side of his paint. It strikes you in a brief moment of anxiety that this is only intermission—Papa would have to go back out and perform the second half of the show, and it would be your fault if he looked as disheveled out there as he did in here with you.

“If you are worried about this, dolce,” he smiles, dragging a finger through the sweat and paint, smudging it, “I am painted fresh before I go out again.”

“I wasn’t...” you try to protest, but end up smiling too. Papa chuckles into your neck, and your second builds. Dedicating himself to making you cum again, he pushes in with deep thrusts, shaking your very body atop the creaking bed. You can’t help it. You scream his name as an even stronger climax washes over you. 

“Si,” he growls, “Say it as you finish!” He’s shouting now, rocking the bed against the wall. “Say my title! Say it! Who am I?!”

“Papa,” you cry.

“You are right,” he growls, and pulls out quickly to finish over your lower stomach. Watching through half lidded eyes, a moan falls from your lips at the sight of the warm seed dripping down over your skin and pooling. Papa gives two lazy jerks of his fist over himself to get it all out, before collapsing beside you. Cuddling into your leg and cradling it, he sighs.

“Never thought you would be one for cuddling,” you speak up.

“I take offense to that,” he pants. “I am a very cuddly person in fact, much more so than my brothers.”

“I mean... I always hoped you were.” He looks up, and flashes you that winning smile that gets everyone in the audience swooning. “Why me?”

“You seemed to appreciate me when you looked into my eyes,” he murmurs, stroking a finger across your cheek. “These days, someone like you is hard to find.”

“What do you mean?” you frown.

 _She doesn’t know about tonight,_ Papa thinks. If he wanted to open up to you, he couldn’t have—the stage manager is knocking at the door.

“Ten minutes ‘til intermission’s up, Papa!” You hear the beating of practiced drumsticks against the wall, and Papa slides from your side, standing. Shameless in his naked state, he walks over to his dressing table to comb his hair a little.

“You like it a little mussed, no?” he teases, turning back to present his style. There’s a strange sadness behind those eyes, despite the laugh lines crinkling around them. You nod, and Papa comes over to take your hand at the side of the bed. “You may stay here if you’d like... but I suppose you came for a show.”

“I guess I did,” you nod. Your eyebrows knit a little, and Papa presses a long kiss to your forehead.

“Go see my manager, si? You will have a place to watch me from the wing.” Before you can thank the enigmatic frontman who just brought you the best twenty minutes of your life, he’s heading out the door and closing it quickly for your privacy.

Papa hopes with all his heart the girl he had just slept with didn’t feel jilted at all. It wasn’t about loving and leaving, it was about the love of such pleasures, wherever one could find them. At least he had been good in offering her a backstage view, but something about the groupies he had fucked over the past 5 years was catching up to him. He was supposed to feel good after these things, but despite the relief he felt from not having to perform the rest of the ritual hard, the ache in his chest hadn’t left him.

He didn’t want to say goodbye to tonight... and somehow, you had become a part of tonight.

The second half of the show went over beautifully, and Papa prepared himself for the inevitable last farewell. Singing out the lyrics of Monstrance Clock like it was his last night on earth, he tried to meet the eyes of every single soul in the audience. His own eyes welled. They saw him as Papa. Their leader— _their_ Papa. He was still Papa. Yes. He was still Papa. He would not be so easily forgotten amongst these faces.

As he prepares to belt out a goodbye as grand and flamboyant as he, Terzo feels strong arms curl around his torso. Confused, he looks around helplessly as he’s dragged from his throne, into the darkness and out of the kingdom of his spotlight.

“How dare you?!” he spits in the wings, shoving the hands off him. They let him go, though Papa is no match for the two burly guards. “Do you know who you are touching? You can’t do this to me! I am Papa! I—” He hears the sound of a microphone squeal, and turns slowly.

Grimacing at the sight, he sees his own father lumber out onstage to usurp him. In Italian, he heard him introduce the dark ages... and that was that. Dumfounded, Terzo stands there. The crew walks past him, ghouls, and others go about their business congratulating each other for a great last show of the tour. Papa feels unseen among them; unreal, as if he can’t feel anymore.

Papa? No. He was no longer Papa. He had his time, he supposed. Now it was over.

He feels a hand on his back. Omega comes up beside Terzo, tone gentle. “Papa?” It does not go unnoticed by the youngest Emeritus that his dear friend continues to use his former title. Terzo manages a smile.

“Mm?” The ghoul passes the man his mitre, which had been left backstage during the costume change earlier on. A note flutters from it, and Terzo picked it up to read it.

_You’ll always be Papa to me._

\- _You know who_

Terzo looks up, and catches your eye in the opposite wing. With a wave from you, he feels the star inside of him awaken once more. The one who dances, charms, plays, indulges and inspires. Your smile only grows, and he realizes that maybe it wasn’t the status of papacy that gained him everybody’s affection these past few years... maybe it was really him they—and you— liked, after all.


End file.
